The Clowns of the Baskervilles
by Gypsy Rose2014
Summary: In which it is revealed that Mary Morstan doesn't like clowns. Not even a little.


**A/N: I do hope you're enjoying your Halloween! Another silly vignette for you. WARNING: there's clowns.**

**Disclaimer: I own very little.**

October swept over 221B with a disturbing wave of childish whimsy. It had begun with a few orange Christmas lights strung around the flat, but now it looked as if a toy shop had exploded all over. Sherlock's skull was equipped with a monacle and stick-on moustache. Phony spiderwebs were strung through every doorway and arrangements of black roses festooned the fireplace mantle. After the unfortunate pumpkin patch incident, they'd been banned for life, but fortunately the market down the way had a selection to choose from so that every bare surface was now adorned with a carved gourd. Mary's were by far the most artful: a flying witch on a broom, a glowing dragon, Dracula. John and Molly had stuck to traditional funny faces while Sherlock simply drove a knife into the top of one and left it.

John Watson would never be one described as "childlike" or "silly" but Molly and Mary's enthusiasm had managed to overwhelm him with seasonal jubilation. He'd been the worst one, actually. Hiding spiders in their beds, surprising Mary in the shower with a butcher knife, telling truly grotesque ghost stories at night to keep the girls squealing. It was with this in mind that he brought home the flyer.

Walking along the street this afternoon, he'd seen a man standing outside a ruined theater barking at passersby. The man was on stilts, walking back and forth in what looked like an old fashioned undertaker's suit with an exaggerated velvet top hat. "House of Horrors! Opening night in back of the old Lyceum! Prepare to be terrified!" John was intrigued. He'd always loved spook houses when he was a kid and from the looks of the bill that had been shoved into his palm, this one was going to be good.

"Sherlock! Girls!" John called as he burst through the door. He ran up the stairs eagerly to find Molly lying on the couch with her head in Sherlock's lap, dozing as he read a book. Mary was noticeably absent.

"Did you get the shopping?" Sherlock asked, turning the page but not looking up.

"No… I haven't made it there yet."

"Good," Molly sighed. "We need tea."

"Fine, but I saw…"

"And coffee.. NOT that pumpkin shit," Sherlock added.

John nodded. "Whatever but…"

"And I think Mary needed a few more things for dinner."

"STOP! Can I finish please?" Both looked at him as if he'd taken leave of his senses. "There was this guy outside the Lyceum who was shouting about a haunted house they're putting on."

Sherlock sighed. "Dear Lord…"

"No no… it's like when people dress up and try to scare people that pay to walk through…" John let his voice trail off as Sherlock turned the "moron stare of death" on him. "Don't tell me you've never been to a haunted house."

"Truth is so much stranger than fiction, why on Earth would I pay to have someone scare me when there are loads of people out there wanting to do it for free? Not that they could." Molly giggled.

"Don't encourage him," John sighed. "Because it will be fun. They're like a trip through every bad horror movie you've ever seen."

"I don't like the cinema," Sherlock replied, going back to his book.

"How do you know? Have you ever been?"

No reply.

"Haunted houses are great. All your big fears collected in a sanitized environment. Nothing can really hurt you but you can laugh. It's fun. You'll like it."

Molly snorted. "Well you know what Mary's greatest fear is? Clowns. She hates clowns. All kinds. We were walking along in the park one day and she knocked out some poor guy dressed as a mime."

"Mimes deserve the death penalty," Sherlock grumbled.

"Trust me… if there's clowns, we should steer clear," Molly sighed.

At that moment, Mary appeared at the foot of the stairs in John's fluffy robe and her hair wrapped in a towel. "Mary! You like haunted houses don't you?" John asked, rushing to her and putting an affectionate arm around her shoulder.

"Haunted by what?"

"Not a real haunted house. One of those Halloween attractions where the people dress up and chase you around."

"Uh… sure…"

"Excellent! I got four tickets."

"Uhmmm… no." Sherlock nudged Molly to rise and he got up, straightening his jacket. "But thanks for thinking of me."

"Oh come on, Sherlock," Molly whined. "It will be fun."

"Waste of time…"

"You know, I run off with you on things you want to do all the time," John countered.

"I never said you had to."

"Besides, it will be fun. Kind of a double date." John gave a goofy grin and Mary shook her head.

"I don't date," Sherlock replied darkly, pulling on his coat.

Molly rose and narrowed her eyes at him. "Oh really?"

Mary grabbed John by the arm and started pulling him up the stairs just as the growling began. "You just had to bring that up didn't you?"

The four of them stood in a long queue that stretched around the block. John was bouncing with boyish glee and Mary couldn't help but laugh in spite of herself. His excitement was catching and he had even managed to strike up a conversation with the group of giggly teens in front of them. Molly stood beside Sherlock, her arm looped through his. He still didn't look happy, but he was there. Molly almost looked apprehensive as they stood there, but at this point she was still smiling. Mary leaned over. "What did you do to him to get him here?" she asked Molly, nodding toward Sherlock.

"Nothing. I think he just didn't want to miss anything. And of course I mentioned that the illusions were so complex that I bet no one could figure out how they were done. That hooked him."

" 'scuse me, Guv… you got a pence for an old woman?" One of the actors working the line, dressed as a bag lady, stopped to harass Sherlock. "Or maybe for me husban'…" She reached into her bag, grabbing a gory prop head and brandishing it at him.

Sherlock grabbed the actor by her moth-eaten shawl and pulled her close. "I will kill you and make it look like an accident." She jerked away, looking at Sherlock in horror and stumbling off down the line.

"Smooth," Molly whispered, blushing with embarrassment. "She was just doing her job."

"Well she doesn't have to do it to me."

Minutes later they were entering the Styrofoam façade of a creepy old house. Spooky music and narration came through speakers overhead telling the story of a cranky old socialite who murdered his cheating child bride. The line of spectators moved slowly, holding on to one another in the expectation of a fright. Cobwebs, mechanical bats flying overhead and fake blood were strewn everywhere. In the distance, they could hear the screams of the party ahead as some creature jumped out.

"_Some say that Mr. Creech was possessed by an evil spirit…" _the creepy voice droned, drawing an eye roll from Sherlock.

"Puh-lease…" he sighed.

John thumped him behind the ear. "Sherlock, behave."

As they walked past a wax tableau depicting the old man crouching over a swooning woman, the statue split in two and a dripping nightmare creature emerged with a pop and flicker of pyrotechnics. Molly screamed, climbing Sherlock like a tree.

They continued through the house, laughing and jumping at the actors who limped toward them. Zombies, holograms of ghosts, bloody vampires and killers with chainsaws chased them from one room to the next. And it was all fun and games until the last room on the left.

At this point, Molly was riding on Sherlock's back, but even he had to admit that the silliness of the whole thing was amusing. Or perhaps he was just enjoying Molly's squeals and her quickening breath against his ear. Mary had been laughing with John, making fun of the silly costumes and the random puffs of air and fog machines. They rounded the corner, turning into what appeared to be a child's nursery. The walls were cracked and the pink bunny wallpaper was peeling. A small cradle sat in one corner, rocking back and forth on its own with a spooky creak. _"On the anniversary of Mrs. Creech's death, her five year old daughter mysteriously disappeared from her own birthday party. It is said that she followed the hired entertainer to the attic room and was never seen again." _Manufactured thunder boomed and the room lit up with lightning. And then there was movement in the corner. The queued crowd looked just as an enormous rat slithered across the room. It was a clever distraction as an actor dressed as an enormous clown burst through the door. His tiny polka dotted hat sat perched upon a gray, misshapen head. Shoddy greasepaint ran down his forehead and into his hollowed eyes. He laughed, showing rows of sharpened teeth, stained with blood. The room scattered in a cacophony of screams and terrified laughter. All except for Mary.

Mary stood rooted to her spot, unable to move or scream, staring dumbly at the evil killer clown. "Are you ok?" John shouted, pulling at her sleeve. Suddenly, the clown lunged at her and she burst into action. The poor actor didn't know what hit him as Mary punched him so hard in the jaw he fell over backwards and flipped, crashing into the wall behind him. It wasn't enough, apparently and she lit upon the clown, beating and kicking him, whirling like some sort of Tasmanian devil. It took John, Sherlock, Molly and an innocent bystander to get her off of him before she killed the poor man.

"I don't like clowns," Mary grumbled as the police were leading them away.


End file.
